


frayed threads

by dandelionslute



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: M/M, boys kissing in the bath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23184778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionslute/pseuds/dandelionslute
Summary: Geralt runs a hot bath for Jaskier, and then joins him in it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 240





	frayed threads

He’s not sure why he offers - maybe it’s the chattering of Dandelion’s teeth, or the way his fingers shake as they clasp at each other in an attempt to rub warmth into his hands. Or perhaps it’s the snow falling from his hair onto the floor, the pink glow of his nose and cheeks where the rest of his face is pale.

“I could run you a bath?” Geralt offers, less affected by the frost clinging to his hairline. He forgets, sometimes, that his bard is only human. He might be feisty, and witty, and full of life, but their travels take their toll on him, and the rough chill of moving through the deep of winter was no easy challenge.

Dandelion nods quickly, wrapping his arms around himself and dancing on the spot to generate some heat. Or maybe just to stop his bones from shaking underneath his skin. He wildly brushes the snow from his hair and breathes warm air into his clasped hands. “Let’s never leave this room,” he says, watching as Geralt quickly sparks the fire into life before heading to fill up the tub.

“We can stay until the snow settles,” Geralt replies, dipping his hand into the water and testing the temperature, “Maybe a few days.” The water feels warm, but he considers Dandelion’s predisposition for superfluous luxuries, and he settles for hotter than warm. He beckons to Dandelion with a flick of his head in the direction of the bath. “Come. Get in.”

Dandelion scurries on his toes across the room and makes quick work shoving his clothes off his cold-stinging limbs, stepping into the tub with a low sigh of relief and sinking into it. And Geralt pretends not to stare at the smooth edges of Dandelion’s body while he undresses. The arm muscles that flex as he pulls off his trousers, and the soft part of his belly that contracts slightly as he reaches up and pulls his chemise over his head. The thick hair across his chest that trails down and curls over his groin and the inside of his thighs. 

Dandelion doesn’t seem concerned in the slighest, however, that Geralt has just watched him undress completely and slip into the steaming water that hasn’t quite risen high enough to cover his body. He closes his eyes and sighs happily as his body begins to warm, his skin prickling with heat and his face flushing a deeper shade of pink. Geralt has to force his eyes not to stare at the certain parts of Dandelion’s body that swell from the welcoming warmth.

And Geralt’s not sure why he just can’t leave Dandelion to bathe himself like the adult man he is, and he instead he dips his cupped hands into the tub and brings them to pour water down Dandelion’s back. Dandelion’s body jolts and he opens his eyes, and the pair stare at one another for the moment, the sound of the running tap splashing into the water below the only sound carried between them.

“Is it warm enough?” Geralt asks, gripping his hands on the side of the tub, trying to keep from rubbing the rogue clinging droplets of water on Dandelion’s chest into his skin.

Dandelion nods and smiles. “It’s wonderful,” he purrs, closing his eyes and leaning backwards. “Thank you. I thought I would freeze to death on the spot.” 

Geralt hums and kneels beside the tub for another moment before pulling himself to his feet, and before he can make it two steps, Dandelion asks, “Although.. maybe you could join me?”

Geralt doesn’t need to be asked twice, but just incase the bard is suffering from heat induced delirium, he turns around to look for any sign of regret on Dandelion’s face. And there’s none. There’s humid-damp hair hanging in his eyes that look up at Geralt with ardour, and there’s a gentle smile that hides sometimes a little more sinister beneath the sweetness, but there’s no regret. 

And so he shakes off his clothes, barely taking his eyes off the bard, and slides into the tub opposite him. It’s a little cramped, but Dandelion pins his legs to the sides of the tub and makes room for Geralt’s in between. He turns the tap and shuts the water off, and the gentle sound of the final drops echo in the space between them.

“Warm enough?” Dandelion asks, his arms coming to rest long and lazy on the sides of the tub, and Geralt’s got the most salacious view of his loosely splayed body in front of him, the soft moving water just cover enough to afford them both some privacy. It’s a sight that warms him enough on its own.

“Mmm,” Geralt hums, dipping his hands into the water and pulling them through his hair, running them down the back of his neck and over his chest, watching Dandelion’s eyes follow his fingertips. “It’s good.”

Dandelion grins and closes his eyes, tipping his head back just a little, and Geralt can’t stop staring at his throat. He can see the steady pulse beneath his pale neck, and if he listens hard enough, he can hear it too. Quickening. He takes the chance to drag his eyes like a paintbrush over the canvas of Dandelion’s skin, the dark hair on his chest that leads below into the water, the thick thigh muscles and calves that seem to be pulling him in closer.

Geralt feels the tension like a tightrope between them, stretched to its limits, like all it would take was _one frayed thread_ for the whole thing to collapse.

And maybe _he’s_ the one suffering from heat induced delirium, because he feels it’s a good idea in the moment to lean into the space between Dandelion’s knees and take his fingers to the bard’s face, gently sweeping the hair from his eye towards his ear.

Dandelion leans into his touch, without opening his eyes, and he makes a sound that Geralt can’t quite discern. It’s low, and desperate, and _urging_. It’s a sound he’s heard before, but usually from the mouth of a woman laying beneath him, asking shyly for more. _Oh._

Geralt takes it as an invitation. _Gods, he hoped it was an invitation._

He grips the edge of the tub behind the bard to help pull him closer and presses his mouth to Dandelion’s. His lips are warm, sweet, and soft - Geralt knew they would be. He kisses him slowly and Dandelion’s knees close together to hold Geralt between them. There’s no hurried hands or hungry biting; it’s sweet, and slow, and Geralt makes a point of taking his time to twist his tongue around Dandelion’s, exploring and tasting and _confessing_. The feel of Dandelion’s mouth against his, lips locked in a wet embrace, has heat spreading through his heart and further down. 

Dandelion leans into Geralt and puts his hands on his back, his fingers clinging as he kisses Geralt, but Dandelion’s a little more.. ardent. He kisses Geralt deeply, with breathy sounds in between, his tongue curling around Geralt’s, licking into his mouth like it’s something he’s waited his whole life to do. 

And the thread frays, and the tightrope snaps. 


End file.
